Echoes of Silence
by Clockwerk
Summary: Some say our minds would improve, if only we would learn to close our mouths. Sly Cooper learns this the hard way.
1. Prelude to Silence

**A/N:**All Author's Notes will be placed in my profile.

Prologue

It was a cold night at the Chateau Evrell, nestled deep in the countryside of modern France. The castle was old, exceedingly so, and the stones that made up its visage showed their wear and tear. The stones had been hauled from a quarry almost ten miles from the site of the castle, nearly five hundred years ago. It had taken ten years, but the Chateau Evrell had been constructed. It was put to good use, staving off several heavy assaults that would have made their way to Paris had they not been waylaid. Over the years the Chateau was constantly inhabited, and always by the noblest of the land.

However, time passed and soon the Chateau Evrell found itself without an owner. It stayed on Espère Hill, for nearly one hundred years before the people living in the surrounding villages paid it any mind. Finally, the townspeople of the village closest to the castle formed a committee whose job it was to decide what they should do with the castle. Some suggested that they open Chateau Evrell to the public, as a sort of museum. Others insisted that they let it lie where it was; it was rumored that one of the late lords of the castle had placed the fortress under a curse.

Finally, one men stepped out of the shadows and solved all the townspeople's problems; he bought Chateau Evrell for a hefty sum. The townspeople did not question the man, and he moved his belongings into the castle in short time. He stayed inside the castle, and began to do his job. It was small things at first, like hiring local thieves and pickpockets to steal things from the townspeople and bring them to him, in return for a small percent of the loot. The man's avarice seemed to know no bounds however, and his criminal influence soon reached farther and farther away from the Chateau Evrell.

The local authorities tried their best to put the man behind bars, but could do nothing. Whether the man pointed out a complex series of laws and ordinances, or just used plain old bribery, the man kept himself out of jail. He branched out from thievery, and soon became a veritable crime lord. Without warning one night, the man living in Chateau Evrell found himself the target of an asassination attempt. After that, the Chateau was under the strictest of guard; not since the days of knights and chivalry had there been this many people inside the castle walls.

Like giant, cold sentinels the walls stood and guarded those that moved around inside them. Those that moved inside the walls protected the giant stones that stood as a brace against the rest of the world. It was a sort of symbiotic relationship; the people protected the castle, while the castle protected the people.

Finally, the man's corrupted presence in the world was so large and great that it attracted one of the world's greatest thieves. The thief came in the dead of night, under cover beneath the ominous clouds, and scaled the chateau's walls, landing inside the courtyard. The thief continued inward and onward, heading towards the room that was rumored to contain all of the man's ill-begotten goods. No one knows how it was done, but the next morning the only thing found in the treasure room was a small boy, barely old enough to be employed, unconscious. The man who owned the chateau was disgusted, and decided that if someone could break into his castle that easily, then trying to get his money back would be a waste of time.

Several weeks after the thief struck during the night, the man mysteriously vanished from the Chateau Evrell. His employed thugs woke to find that the man had left, under the full moon never to be seen again. The guards, petty criminals, and regular business people the man employed within the bounds of the Chateau Evrell began to trickle out of the building, until the building of stone stood empty once more.

Chapter 1:**Prelude to Silence**

"Ugh... feel like I got hit by a train," muttered an inert Sly Cooper. He swung his legs out of his bed, and his blue shoes hit the ground. "Why do I feel that way though? I can't remember what happened last night," he said, scratching his head.

"You were drunk Sly," came a nasally, irritated voice.

"Oh yeah," replied Sly sheepishly. The raccoon looked everywhere in his room for his turtley friend, but he was nowhere to be seen. "Where are ya' Bent?" he called out, instantly regretting having done so; the loud noise hurt his senses.

"Upstairs! You know I can't go down there anymore," Bentley called down to Sly.

By looking out of his window, Sly saw that the sun was just rising; the perfect and the worst time to be awake. The perfect time to be awake because that's when most people considered it natural to be awake, and it was also the worst time to be awake because Sly's choice of career made it incredibly hard to pull off any jobs in the daylight. Sly decided that since he was up, he might as well see what Bentley and the Murray were up to.

He hurried over to the door that hid the wooden staircase, and opened it without a second thought. He quickly climbed up the normally creaky stairs, and entered the hide out's living room. Bentley was no where to be found, yet again. There was however, somebody else in the room. A small boy wearing a beret, with his back to Sly, facing out the open door into the city proper of Paris.

"Hey! You there!" Sly yelled, "Get out of here! This is my hide out!"

The boy turned around to look at Sly, and as he did so, grew at least three sizes larger. His face was a pure white color, with a thin black line running from each of his cheeks to over each of his eyebrows, which made it appear like he was always crying. His current facial expression however, showed an emotion completely different from sadness; it was anger. The boy raised one of his huge, muscled arms and used his index finger to point at Sly.

"Are you deaf boy? I said get out!" said Sly, starting to become creeped out by the now hulking child.

The boy brought his index finger back to one side of his neck, and slowly dragged it along his neck with a slicing motion.

"So, now your threatening me, huh?" Sly asked, twirling his cane. "In my own home, eh?" Sly queried rhetorically, twirling his cane just a bit faster. Without warning, Sly lashed out at the boy with his cane, but met only with air. The boy had vanished. Sly's cane dropped to the floor, as the raccoon felt something close in around his neck, squeezing the life from him. He groped at the invisible tendril around his neck, but to no avail. The world was becoming darker. Sly Cooper dropped to his knees, struggling to remove the choking attacker, and as he inhaled his last breath he heard an angry voice say, "Cooper..."

"WOAH!" Sly sat bolt-upright in bed, a cold sweat clinging to his brow. "That was some weird dream..." he mused. "I guess there's only one way I can make sure it was truly a dream though," he said, and he swung his feet out from under the covers. He let out a sigh of relief once he saw that he wasn't wearing his blue thief shoes. "I don't wear shoes to bed," he commented calmly.

The dream had felt pretty real, up to the point when he began to move up those stairs; they hadn't creaked like they always did. Just to be sure Sly crept out of bed, as Murray was still sleeping over in the corner, and tip-toed over to the stairs and tested the first few. The creaking noise hit his ears as he placed his right foot on the first step and Sly was finally able to say that what he had experienced was a dream.

"A creepy dream," he said to himself, a vivid image of the boy's face flashing before him. Sly had no idea where the boy had come from. He frowned as he hopped back into his bed; he usually had a good memory for faces but he seemed to be drawing a blank. _No one I've ever met had a face like that,_ he mused, staring at the ceiling aimlessly. _It was creepy._

Just then, a loud snore broke the silence in the room and interrupted Sly's train of thought. _Good point,_ thought Sly, _now really is a time for sleeping. I guess I'll just ask Bentley about it in the morning._ With that Sly Cooper closed his eyes and slowly but surely fell asleep, none the wiser about his current situation.

* * *

_Sewer Crocodile, Fact or Fantasy? _read the headline of a newspaper that a busy café goer innocently dropped onto a local sewer grate. Everybody above the sewers were too busy to notice that the paper was pulled down into the depths of the dank tunnels of the sewer system. The crocodile who had snatched the paper sneered at the headline, while trying to keep the paper open with his only hand. He had been down here in these stinking pipes for who knows how long and those people up above still were poking their noses around where they weren't wanted.

When he was young he had gotten into an accident that had cost him his left arm. _That's ok though,_ he had thought at the time, _I'm a righty anyways. _However, being a crocodile with one arm hurt his reputation as a fearsome predator, and no matter what he did he couldn't get the other children at school to leave him alone. Finally, the crocodile had snapped and left his home above ground for one more solitary and silent. He had gotten just what he wanted when he fell face first into the sewers one day, and had lived inside their labyrinthine like confines ever since.

The crocodile, named Roc Croc was a magician, or so he told the giant rats who lived in the sewers alongside him. He knew very little magic, and didn't use it to produce any earth shattering effects.

Now-a-days Roc spent almost all of his time in his 'apartment,' mixing strange concoctions from ingredients found just outside his door in the raw sewage. He loved nothing more than two drop two different ingredients into his iron mixing pot, and then testing the result on one of the rats that skittered about his floor. He had several favorite mixtures; one that turned the drinker's tongue a deep black color, one that caused a person's toe nails to grow to un-imaginable lengths, and even one that gave the drinker a sort of night vision. (That last one had some nasty after effects, and it had taken him the better part of five hours to clean up the rats whom he had tested the solution on.)

Roc was currently finishing his latest creation. He let go of his wooden mixing stick, and snatched an unlucky rat who had been sniffing at the base of his pot. Laughing just a bit crazily, Roc bit the head off the rat and tossed the rest of the body into the pot. The body of the rat began dissolving as it hit the surface of the caustic liquid. _One last ingredient,_ he thought, turning around to take a look at his shelf, as he swallowed the rat's head in one swift go.

His shelf was actually just a large recess in his stone wall that he had hewn out with his own hand, but he preferred to call it a shelf, thinking that it made his apartment feel more homey. There were all sorts of bottles located on his shelf, green ones, red ones, ones that had intricate designs painted onto them, some that were square, some that were round, some that looked like they'd be better suited for life in a museum than on some deranged madman's 'shelf,' and even ones that Roc held onto just because he liked them. _Ah, here we go. _Roc reached out and grasped a small light blue colored bottle, and emptied its contents into the pot. He stirred the concoction a few more times before he removed his wooden mixing stick, satisfied. He chanted a few words, some of the little magic he knew, and watched satisfied as the liquid in his mixing pot turned an opaque rose color.

Roc looked up from his work to be greeted with the visage of his customer, or at least the mask his current customer was wearing. It was one of those pure white theater masks that showed sadness. Roc had a feeling that this man had the other mask as well, the one that showed happiness, and wore whichever correctly depicted his current mood. The man stepped into the dim lighting of Roc's apartment, and the host bowed deeply.

"Did you bring the gold like I asked?" asked Roc in a deep, raspy voice, thick with a French accent. Gold was the only thing that Roc accepted as payment for his services. The crocodile rarely traveled above surface, and when he did he usually found that the current currency's value had fluctuated somewhat since his last walk above ground. Gold however, was an entirely different thing; no matter the circumstance Roc could always get good deals for his gold.

The stranger reached down to his belt and undid a knot or two, before successfully freeing the sack of gold from his side. Roc watched greedily as the stranger tossed the sack onto a rickety old table. Some of the golden coins spilled out from their container, making little chinking noises as they collided into each other. Roc smiled triumphantly as he eyed the little golden trinkets. "Ah good, I was hopin' you wouldn't forget." Roc's one large, scaly hand scooped the gold coins back into their purse. "Much obliged," said Roc, tipping his head down slightly, showing respect to the stranger.

"And now for my part of the deal, eh?" Roc laughed shakily as he returned to his shelf, seeking an empty bottle. This mask wearing stranger was giving Roc the creeps. He soon found one, a tiny green, see-through vial, and used an iron ladle to pour some of his newest mixture into the container. He jammed a cork into the vial and held it out to the stranger. The stranger took the bottle, and gazed at it intently for several seconds, as though wishing to divine the liquid's purpose just by staring at it.

Almost as if on queue, Roc began to explain how the solution worked. "Just make sure the recipient of the effects imbibes the drink, any amount will do." He paused for a moment, trying to remember the finer details of how this exact concoction functioned. "The effects should take hold about one hour after being in the subject's system." That didn't seem to be all the stranger wanted however, as he stood still blocking the only exit, fingering something that Roc couldn't see that was tucked away in his belt. Roc gulped slightly, he didn't like the vibe he was getting from this guy and that creepy mask certainly didn't improve matters anymore. Thinking of one last thing the stranger might want to know, Roc said, "The mixture's effects are indefinite. Only I have the antidote."

The stranger bowed his head in thanks, and stepped out of Roc's apartment. Roc watched the man go, with a slight look of contempt on his face. The crocodile had the feeling that he would've been killed right there on the spot had he not delivered that last piece of crucial information. "Weirdo," stated Roc, to no one in particular, as he turned to the task at hand, counting his gold.

* * *

"Alright guys, our current target is an old gangster by the name of Ludwig von Stoopehd," began Bentley, with Sly snickering in the background at their target's last name. Bentley took a moment to glare at Sly, a look that plainly told his taller more lithe friend to 'shut up' for the moment. Once Sly had quieted down, Bentley switched the slides on his old projector, as Murray looked on with a confused face; he hadn't understood what was funny about the gangster's name. The new slide showed the visage of an ugly manor. "He's an old, extremely paranoid guy, so naturally he has the biggest security system I've ever seen. Luckily," Bentley switched the photo on the projector once more. This time Ludwig was sitting at a bar. "We can circumvent most of the security if Sly steals a key from Ludwig himself."

"Most of the security?" questioned Sly. His ears had perked up after hearing that this might turn out to be one of the easiest heists he had ever pulled off, if all he had to do was pluck a key from the back trouser pocket of some old German guy. "What do you mean exactly, by most of the security?"

"Security lasers, buzz saw traps, security cameras," said Bentley, listing off all the security measures that could be turned off with just the simple turn of the aforementioned key. "Several large search lights, like the ones you find in most prisons, electronic locks on all the doors in the manor, and several of those nasty death pits he has scattered about the place."

Sly leaned forward slightly. "So you're saying the painting I'm going in to swipe is going to be defenseless if I can get that key?" he said, tentatively.

"Almost defenseless Sly. You'll still have to deal with..." Bentley gulped. "the Tail Eater."

"The what?" interjected a confused Murray.

"The Tail Eater Murray, he's just... too evil to describe," said Bentley pressing the button to change the picture in his slideshow. "Here, I mean just take a look at the guy's picture." The Tail Eater, or Francois Bellevue, was a white furred husky. He chose a minimalistic view when it came to clothing, and in the photo was wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, both colored to blend in with his fur; having his clothes the way they were made him stand out in stark contrast to his surroundings, like how a snow flake is very visible against a dark stormy backdrop. He was not wearing any footwear. His left eye had glazed over in blindness a long time ago, and held an eerie quality about it. Even by looking at the photo, that eye weirded Sly and the gang out.

"That guy looks like he could use a few of the Murray's patented face, fixing punches," commented Murray when he saw the deep scowl on the Tail Eater's face. It was a face that he had worn for as long as anyone who had known him could remember.

Finally, something clicked within Murray's comparatively smaller brain. "You said this guy was called the Tail Eater, right Bentley? Does that mean he actually eats tails?"

The turtle was caught off-guard by the question, as he had still been entranced by that one eye. "Uh, I guess it's good you bring that up Murray. No, this guy does not actually eat tails," said Bentley, calmly. He knew that was not the whole truth, but he didn't feel particularly like divulging the whole story unless one of the guys asked him.

"So why name himself something incredibly stupid, then?" asked Sly, his curiosity piqued. If this guy didn't do as his name said, there must be some other reason behind calling yourself something as silly sounding as the Tail Eater.

"Funny you should mention that Sly," stated Bentley, a bit drier than usual. The photo in the slideshow changed again, and Sly, Murray, and even Bentley (who had seen the photo a few times before) recoiled back in disgust. There was a rat face down on the floor, and everything looked normal until you started to look down at the seat of the rat's pats where his tail had once been. Instead, there was a gaping whole in the rat's pants and a huge open wound that had bled and bled until the rat breathed his last. Besides the pool of blood coming from the rat's backside, there was a small trail of blood leading off to one side and away from the corpse. "The Tail Eater, angry at the loss of his own tail, goes around hunting down notable individuals and takes their tails, forcibly. In effect, he 'eats' the tails, as any one who has had their tail stolen by him have either ended up dead, or never had the nerve to go after their assailant."

As Bentley finished his description of the Tail Eater, Sly subconsciously wrapped his fluffy, ringed tail around his body. "I'd rather keep my tail, thank you," said Sly, his eyes fixated on the photo of the dead rat. He really wanted to pull his eyes away, but this was like looking at a really train wreck because no matter how hard you tried to pry your eyes from the scene it is just impossible to do. Feeling that a change of subject was necessary, Sly said, "Anyways, it seems kind of strange that this guy could be as paranoid as you claim Bentley, and still feel comfortable in that bar we saw him at in the last photo."

"Ah," said Bentley, removing his spectacles to clean them with a cloth, "You see, when perfectly normal, von Stoopehd twitches at the slightest creak in the floorboard, the quietest rustle of branches outside, I could go on with examples, but I feel you guys get the picture."

"So, when's the time when he isn't normal?" questioned Murray.

"After he's become inebriated," stated Bentley. "That means once he's become drunk," said Bentley, when he saw the blank expression on Murrays face at the word 'inebriated.' "One drink is enough to plaster this guy, and getting him drunk will be integral to getting the key from him. You won't have a chance otherwise Sly."

* * *

"Who's there?" whispered a terribly frightened Ludwig von Stoopehd. He brandished a candlestick in his left hand menacingly as his manic eyes darted about the semi-dark room he was supping in. "I'm warning you! I'm armed!" he shakily yelled at the darkness. When he had finally convinced himself that it hadn't been a team of highly trained ninja assassins that had been hired to take him out, he sat back down in his high-backed velvet chair. He wrapped his rat-tail around his waist and began to lift a spoonful of cold soup to his lips when his perked at a sound.

The silver spoon clattered noisily onto the table, spilling the soup in all directions. This was the real deal, thought von Stoopehd. His long, gangly fingers easily found their way back to the candlestick and Ludwig grasped the blunt instrument harder than he had before. He whipped out of his seat, and almost plowed right through the stranger who had come to pay a visit. The stranger was wearing a solid black cloak, and one of those theater masks that showed emotion, this one showing happiness.

"Oh, it's just you," commented Ludwig, as he slowly relinquished some of his grasp on the candlestick. "Can't ever be too careful you know," he said. The stranger merely stood there, gazing at von Stoopehd. After a moment of uneasy silence, the stranger began fishing around in one of his pockets, and produced a small green vial along with a plain envelope, both of which he handed to Ludwig who accepted them with his shaking hands. "Now get lost," said a rather confident Ludwig. The stranger bowed, and left immediately.

Ludwig took a look at the cover of the envelope which read, _Follow the instructions inside._

* * *

"Alright Bentley, Ludwig is on his way." Sly had taken up post on top of a nearby telephone pole, and was watching the German rat through his binoc-u-com, which meant that Bentley had already known that Ludwig was moving. Bentley just chuckled at his friend's tendency to restate the obvious.

"Now all you need to do is follow him to the bar and take the key once he's had a drink or two," came Bentley's nasally voice over the communication channel. Sly couldn't actualy see his small green friend, but he could tell that by the sound of his voice that Bentley was currently working on back-up plans should any of his original ideas (numbered 1 through 25, and each with at least five subsections) fail. "Just make sure you don't let him see you Sly. If he does, he's likely to head right back to his manor, bar the doors, and turn on the security which is the last thing we want to happen."

"Understood," said the master thief as he stuffed the binoc-u-com back into his backpack he kept slung over his shoulders. Quickly jettisoning himself off the telephone pole, Sly landed gracefully on the paved street below and began his task of stalking the target. This mission reminded him a lot of the time when he had stalked Dimitri, but this time the person he was tailing stopped nearly every ten seconds just in case he was going to be bludgeoned from behind.

When von Stoopehd had finally crossed the threshold of the pub, named The Drunken Idiot, Sly found himself a way onto the roof of the building and from there a place to spy on Ludwig from. _Why didn't I just stay on the rooftops to get to the attic?_ wondered Sly as he positioned himself in the attic over a crack in the floorboards that gave him a full view of what was happening below. Ludwig was still as nervous as ever, but he still kept moving towards the bar and ordered himself a pint. Sly watched as the bar-tender, a rather plump boar, brought the old man his drink, and something dawned on Sly. _Maybe he drinks because its the only time he isn't afraid of his own breath?_ he thought. _It must be pretty depressing to be scared all the time._

Sly finally saw what he was waiting for, a fully inebriated Ludwig von Stoopehd, and the master thief vacated his station in the attic and hopped outside before entering the pub from the front door. He had disguised himself earlier, and did not have to fear recognition unless Inspector Fox showed up, which he sincerely doubted would happen. Sly walked right up to the bar and ordered himself something, although he didn't plan to really drink anything, it was more for the overall affect.

Von Stoopehd turned to face Sly with a jovial smile on his face. "Why hellosh there!" he managed to say, slurring his words only a minimal amount. Getting drunk as many times as he had in his life meant that he was able to shrug off some of the effects of alcohol, but being of such a weak constitution of his own meant that there was nearly no net benefit from all those nights spent at the pub.

"Hello there my good man," replied Sly in his rather fake sounding British accent. He removed the monocle from in front of his right eye and cleaned it with a small bit of his shirt, before replacing it back into place thinking, _Why do all my accents suck? I mean , I know the Italian accent was bad, but I just can't seem to master any particular way of speaking differently... oh well._ While Sly had been having this mini internal monologue Ludwig had asked the disguised master thief a question. When Sly couldn't exactly remember what it was, he tentatively asked, "Eh, excuse me?"

"I shaish," began Ludwig, "That it why shood nosh be goosh for yoush to drink sum of your drinksh?" When he had finished asking his question, Ludwig just stared at Sly, as though expecting some kind of reply in language much like his own. When Sly didn't respond Ludwig's armed rushed forth and grabbed Sly, putting him in a head lock. Sly struggled against the drunkard's grip, but couldn't shake the rat off of his back. "Drinksh up!" Ludwig cried out aloud as he grabbed Sly's tankard and poured some of the liquid down the raccoon's throat.

When he had done this Ludwig's headlock lessened in intensity, Sly pulled away with the key which he quickly hid. Being unaccustomed to liquor, the beer had burnt all the way down and the master thief coughed heavily for a few moments. "I winsh! I winsh!" yelled Ludwig ecstatically.

_What the hell was that?_ was all that crossed Sly's mind as he ran from the pub. _He must've been plastered... still, I got what I came for._ Sly twirled the key around his finger, while gazing off into the distance towards Von Stoopehd's manor.


	2. Beginnings of Silence

Chapter 2:**The Beginnings of Silence**

Ludwig von Stoopehd was flabbergasted. He could not believe his plan had actually worked. Pretending to be drunk was a favorite pastime for him, as it allowed him to relax under the guise of intoxication. Being that frightened of everything all the time was not only scary, but draining on all the senses. It was an amazement to the rich rat that someone such as Sly Cooper could fall for such a ruse that was so simple in execution._ All I did was pour something into his drink, how non-observant can one person be?_ thought Ludwig, chiding Sly Cooper mentally for being so thick.

Ever since that stranger had contacted him nearly a month ago, things in his life had started looking up. Ludwig now had more money than he knew what to do with (and before he had only had enough to do what he wanted and nothing more), his phobia of actors and acting has lessened slightly, and to top it off if tonight went the way the stranger wanted, Ludwig would never have to fear anything in his life ever again. _Now for part two,_ thought Ludwig as he made his way to the back entrance of his manor, making sure to still appear to be drunk as that was what all the townspeople would expect him to look and act like after one of his trips to The Drunken Idiot. He chuckled to himself just a tiny bit, to add to the image of inebriation he was portraying at the moment, but the laughter was genuine.

When von Stoopehd realized what he was doing, he shut up instantly. Laughing was something he had elected not to do ever again since he was five years old. But even with all his morose thoughts, and his promise to himself that he should never laugh again, Ludwig found it harder and harder to stem the tide of joy inside him. He contorted his face into all manner of disgusting shapes in an effort to block the thing that was filling him to the brim. He fought and fought to keep it inside, but ultimately failed as a loud and singular "HA!" escaped from him. Several passersby gave him strange looks as they always did.

Slowly but surely all the laughter that Ludwig had ever kept down, deep inside him, bubbled to the surface. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop himself. After several moments he stopped trying to hold back and just went with the flow. He spent the next two or three minutes rolling about in the street, giddy with laughter. Even more people passed by him than before, not one of whom could resist turning to their fellow and whispering about the crazy old man in the street, and how it was very lucky that no one was out driving tonight.

When Ludwig recovered from his bouts of laughter he stood himself up rigidly, until he realized he was supposed to be acting drunk and decided that the mad laughter had only aided his disguise of intoxication. The rat made his way to his manor using a long meandering route, as though nothing had just happened._ Tonight will bring an end to all my worldly problems,_ thought Ludwig as he stumbled, drunkenly past two lovers who only a moment before had been enjoying their night time stroll in the light of the half-moon.

* * *

Sly Cooper was on his way to von Stoopehd's mansion, none the wiser of the actions that were at the moment conspiring to bring him down. The master thief kept to the roofs of the houses in town for as long as he could, but eventually found himself once again on terra ferma because Ludwig feared that if people lived too close to him that they would get strange ideas that included murder, arson, robbery, and defacement of private property.

Of course, in case keeping the neighbors away wasn't a good enough deterrent the mad rat had built one monster of a wall. It was fifteen feet tall, pure concrete, and it ran around all of von Stoopehd's property. There was a small gate up in front where Ludwig had constructed a driveway, but that wasn't the only entrance. According to Bentley, at the very edge of von Stoopehd's property was lake and the fearful master of the manor had built himself his very own sewer pipes, having been afraid of people getting access to his house through the public sewer lines.

Sly traveled parallel to the mammoth wall, making sure not to make any loud noises. Even though these walls had been erected at nearly five hundred feet from the actual house, Ludwig had put all manner of sensory machines on the top of his walls, just in case someone tried to enter using any form of grappling hooks. After what seemed like an hour, but in actuality was two minutes, Sly finally came to the end of the wall.

Unfortunately for Sly, the entrance to von Stoopehd's private sewer system was another five minutes away. He left the looming walls behind, and headed out into the deep brush of the forest that bordered the rear end of von Stoopehd's property. Faintly at first, a soft sound reached Sly's ears; the gurgling sound of flowing water. The sound gradually increased as Sly crept closer and closer to its source.

_Bingo._ The sewer entrance jutted out of the side of the hill like an ugly zit on an adolescent's face. There was a metal grate screwed into place on the entrance (or exit rather, as this was the place where everything left the sewers and was dumped into the river). After a few attempts, Sly managed to dislodge the grate from its place, as the screws that held the piece of iron in place had rusted over the years.

Sly peered down the sewer pipe and didn't like the look of things one bit. Sure, he had crawled around in the occasional sewer pipe, but they had never been as cramped or as smelly as this one. Even raccoons, who could eat anything, would disgusted by the sewer pipe that lay in front of Sly. The master thief kept his mind concentrated on other things as he took his first, squelching step into the sewer.

_If only I had a nose plug or something,_ thought Sly as he started off into the sewers, trying within all his power to stop the smell from reaching his nose. _Heck, even a clothespin would've been better than just walking in. Jeeze... you wouldn't think a sewer system that serves one guy would smell this bad._

Finally, the ladder Sly had been looking for loomed into view. He wouldn't given out a sigh of happiness, but that meant uncovering his nose and letting more of those foul sewer particles into his nose, which was not something he was prepared to do. Taking a final breath of the dirty air, Sly practically launched himself up the ladder.

He found himself in sort of a boiler room, minus the boiler. In fact, it seemed that the entrance to the sewer was the only reason this room existed. Sly closed the sewer entrance behind him and pulled out his binoc-u-com. "Bentley, I'm inside." No response. "Bentley, you there?" Static. _Perfect, von Stoopehd must've built a signal scrambler in the center of his property. Hopefully Bentley can find a way around that._ _Now I just need to find the terminal for this security key, and the painting will be mine!_

The enormous sparsely decorated halls of Von Stoopehd's manor magnified the noise of every step Sly took. _What's the problem with building things small? Why does everything need to be so big?_ The halls that Sly walked through were lit only by most reusable type of light available, light from the moon. Because of this, Sly didn't need to worry about sticking to the shadows so much.

Just as he was about to round the corner and start down another long hallway, without a single clue as to where he was supposed to go, an illuminating bolt of lightning struck the earth followed seconds later by a deafening clap of thunder. The thunder wasn't what had caught Sly's attention however, what _had_ caught his attention was a shadow that ran the length of the entire hallway he was about to turn on. Sly concluded that only one person inside the manor at this time would be going about their rounds, Francois Bellevue.

With a quick turn, Sly headed stealthily back the other way. He hadn't liked the look of that hallway anyways, it obviously didn't lead anywhere important. Also, there was no where to hide, and currently Sly smelled pretty bad. He was sure that even if he had found a place to hide, the Tail Eater would have found him just the same.

Heading off down the corridor, Sly came at last to a set of fine double oaken doors. He picked the simple lock that had been placed into the door's knob and stepped into a lavish living room of sorts. The floor was covered in a heavy carpet, decorated with many intricate designs. Sitting in front of a fireplace were two high-back velvet chairs. In between the chairs was a chestnut table, standing no higher than Sly's knees. On the fireplace's mantle were a number of portraits, mostly of von Stoopehd himself. Above the portraits of the current master of the manor hung several photos of his deceased family members, a father, a mother, and a sister. The walls of the room weren't visible, as they were hidden by ceiling high book-cases, each of which were filled to the brim with tome after tome.

The room was so full with expensive things that Sly almost missed what he had been looking for, the security panel. It seemed so out of place, a metal box hanging on the wall surrounded by mountain high collections of books. Sly crossed the room to the security panel, his normally quiet steps now silent thanks to the thick carpeting. As Sly inserted the key he had swiped from von Stoopehd into the panel and turned it, something occurred to Sly. _Apart from that shadow I saw back there, have I seen any actual security?_ The master thief stopped for a moment to consider this, and then decided that he hadn't seen any laser trip-wires, spotlights, pits of death, patrolling guards, or anything. _That's definitely odd,_ he concluded as he watched with a grin as the security panel displayed a message saying that all the security had been turned off. _Now to find the painting I came to steal._

Sly crossed the room back to the oaken double doors and opened one of them slightly, taking a quick peek outside. After all, if what Bentley had said was true, well then Sly would rather not chance an encounter with this Francois Bellevue. After seeing nobody in the deserted hallways, Sly exited the living room and closed the door behind him.

After searching around the maze-like corridors for nearly two minutes (Bentley hadn't been able to find a floor plan for von Stoopehd's manor. This Ludwig guy really liked his privacy.) Sly finally found the art gallery. The gallery would normally be hidden behind an enormous steel plated door that came complete with electronic lock that had a 15 digit long code. Even if would be thieves had gotten this far, what lay behind the door would stop all but the most masterful of burglars from proceeding any further. But Sly Cooper, who had already turned off the security, had no need to worry about any of this. The steel door had been shut off, and all Sly needed to do was to slide it out of the way.

Inside, the art gallery was a long hallway like affair that was decorated a lot like the living room Sly had been in earlier. The only difference was the distinct lack of a fireplace, and that between all of the bookcases were paintings. Some of the paintings were worthless, and others were not. Sly was here to steal one of the latter variety.

The master thief made his way down the long gallery, towards where the most valuable paintings were hung. _Cauchemar, _the painting Sly had come to steal, loomed into view. Sly couldn't make out exactly what the painting was of in the darkness, but it didn't matter. What did matter, was that he'd able to sell the thing on for quite a chunk of coin. Sly's hands reached out to grasp the painting by its sides when a sound reached his ears. Someone was... laughing.

The laughing started slowly and quietly but soon grew louder and faster. Sly whipped around to see that he had company. Von Stoopehd sat in one of his high-backed chairs and glared at Sly Cooper, as he laughed. "Go on, take it," said von Stoopehd between laughs. "I dare say you'll need it more than I!"

"What are you talking about?" questioned a confused Sly. _I'll need it more than him? What's that supposed to mean?_ In all his years of thieving, no one he had ever stolen from had let him get away with it on purpose. Also, Sly noticed that von Stoopehd no longer seemed intoxicated, and the master thief (while never having been inebriated from alcohol more than twice, both times being occasions that he didn't like to bring up) was quite sure it took longer to bring yourself out of a drunken stupor than it had taken Ludwig.

"He's already won, don't you see?" said von Stoopehd cryptically.

It sounded to Sly like something bad was going down, and the master thief quickly decided that he'd try to get information out of this rat before making off with the purloined painting. After all, von Stoopehd didn't seem to have any qualms with Sly taking the painting. "Who's won?" Sly asked, openly curious as to the answer.

"He has, of course! I dare say he's more intelligent than you or I," said von Stoopehd as though it hurt him to say it. "I mean, spiking your drink with... HEEEUURRRGGHHH!" From Sly's point of view it appeared as though a sword point had burst through the rat's chest, as though it were an alien. Von Stoopehd gazed down at the sword that had sprouted from his chest and at the growing crimson spot surrounding the wound. Slowly, and with great effort, von Stoopehd looked up towards his assailant. "You bastard..." were the last words von Stoopehd ever uttered.

A voice, heavily french accented, spoke from behind von Stoopehd's chair. "Just making sure I carry out all aspects of my contract with my real employer. It's nothing personal you see." The owner of the voice spoke to Ludwig's corpse as though it were still alive. "You shouldn't have mentioned the drink Ludwig, otherwise you'd still be alive. Such a pity," it said as it pulled the sword back through the chair. Von Stoopehd's limp body tumbled forward out of the plush chair and landed on the ground with a soft thump.

The speaker stepped out from behind the chair, and Sly's dreadful suspicions had been confirmed. In front of him stood the imposing figure of a white husky, Francois Bellevue. Francois took a look at Sly Cooper and said, "He shouldn't have mentioned the drink you see." Sly merely nodded, almost paralyzed with fear. Subconsciously, Sly wrapped his tail around his mid-section. That eye of Francois's was much more hypnotic in person. Looking at that eye reminded him of another eye, one that had been powered by pure hatred. When Francois saw that Sly wasn't going to go anywhere, he continued speaking. "My part of the contract has been fulfilled, you are free to go. I have no further business with you or von Stoopehd here. You might as well take that painting, you're probably going to need it." Francois sauntered forward, and placed one of his hands firmly around the base of von Stoopehd's tail, and with a swift twirl of his weapon along with a horrible splortching noise, separated the rat's tail from its body.

Sly stayed still as Bellevue exited the gallery, blood dripping onto the floor from the open end of the rat tail. _That was intense,_ thought the Master Thief as he made his own towards the exit, making sure that Francois had really left. When Sly saw that the Tail Eater had left down the corridor to the left (he could see the small droplets of blood on the floor), Sly decided to head back to the right, just in case.

_I think this house is making me just as paranoid as von Stoopehd was!_ was Sly's last thought as he found his way back to the sewer entrance. Mere minutes later, Sly found himself once again on the outside of the manor. After a quick check to see if the painting was still in good condition, Sly was off darting between the trees that stood a ways away from the mile-high wall. Sly easily found his way back to the village, and hopped to the top of the inn.

Sly reached down to his red leg pouch and removed his blue colored binoc-u-com. "Hey Bentley," he said nonchalantly into the voice transmitter, as though he hadn't just witnessed a murder. "You there?"

The communication line crackled to life slowly, as if the signal scrambler inside von Stoopehd's manor had left lasting impressions on the device. The binoc-u-com finally shook off whatever weird mojo had been placed on it by the scrambler and Sly had to hold the thing away from his face instantly. On the other end, Bentley had been yelling very loudly, as he is wont to do when trouble is near, and Sly got blasted by the final words of Bentley's yelling which had been, "... don't do anything stupid!"

"What Bentley? I didn't quite catch that," said Sly calmly, still gazing through the binoc-u-com's lens. He saw what Bentley's message had been about before the turtle had time to repeat his warning. Rushing towards the master thief at top speed was the loveliest of all Interpol Inspectors, Carmelita Fox.

"Get out of there Sly! Carmelita knows we're here! No time! Get out of there and for the love of everything that is good in the world, don't do anything stupid!" Bentley yelled, louder than before. Bentley sounded worried, but then again when was he not? Over the past couple of years he turtle had begun to trust the master thief more and more, but when it came to being chased by the Inspector he reverted back to his old doubting ways.

That was when the oh-so familiar call of "COOPER!" rang out in the crisp night air, followed the by equally predictable (but not unwelcome) appearance of the loveliest Inspector, Carmelita Fox. Like always, the Inspector had her trusty shock pistol in her hands pointed at her quarry, the master thief Sly Cooper. "I've chased you down Cooper. Tonight is the night where I finally bring you in." She said the words as she always did, believing that tonight would finally be the night where she would put the ring-tailed rascal behind bars. No matter how many times she had said the exact same thing, albeit with a different wording each time, she always fully and whole-heartedly believed that she would catch Sly. "Stealing from old, distinguished men... that's a new low even for you thief."

"An old man who was part of a gang that extorted money from innocent people, killed those who wouldn't pay, and imprisoned some people for the hell of it," said Sly with a hint of disdain in his voice; there were just some people in the world whom he couldn't stand, not one bit and von Stoopehd had been one of them.

"You're lying Cooper," said Carmelita, her temper slowly rising as she spoke. "What else would a criminal do but lie, cheat, and steal?" Sly tried to interject, but Carmelita's anger steamrolled over Sly's weak attempt to talk. "I know your type Cooper, I've _known _your type for all of my professional life, Cooper. You take what you can on impulse, and never stop to think of the consequences of your actions!"

"Oh, I know the consequences alright Carmelita," said Sly calmly. He stood on the rooftop, leaning against his cane, waiting for the inevitable question.

"You think you're so smart Cooper," said Carmelita. Her tail began to twitch behind her as she grew impatient with the thief. He was always so damn cocky. Sometimes, it helped her to imagine that Sly's head was filled with nothing but hot air. "What _are_ the consequences then?"

"Well let's see there's the thing when... no wait, that's no consequence," said Sly with a ponderous air. "You see, the word consequence gives the result a negative connotation while all of the results are not negative things in and of themselves." Sly and Carmelita both blinked for a few moments, letting the depth of Sly's last statement sink in fully. _I guess you can't spend as much time with Bentley as I have and not come away with a few things._

"You see Carmelita, what I'm trying to say is that, each and every time I steal something, I have the indescribable pleasure of viewing your lovely visage," said Sly. Without waiting for a response, Sly sprang back from Carmelita and landed on a roof top that was next to the The Drunken Idiot. With several loud Spanish curses ringing out from behind him, Sly knew it was time to make his get-away.

"Get back here ringtail! You can't escape me forever!" yelled out the fiery Inspector, as she fired shell after shell from her shock pistol at the infuriating thief. She had seen the raccoon getting ready to jump away from her just a moment too late to stop him, and so here she was chasing him yet again. She couldn't even remember how many times she had ran in pursuit of Cooper, but she didn't care. Capturing Cooper would be the crowning achievement of her career, and she wasn't about to let an opportunity to put the thief behind bars get away from her.

Unfortunately for Carmelita, she just wasn't as fast as the speedy 'coon. _Maybe I'm not quite as fast as him physically, but I'd bet I'm smarter than him!_ With confidence Carmelita slowed her pace down just slightly and took careful aim over Cooper's right shoulder. She squeezed the trigger on her shock pistol and the bullet rocketed forth from its prison, heading towards the Master Thief. Sly looked back just in time to see the glowing energy bolt headed his way. In order to avoid being electrocuted Sly leapt off the building to his left, but had miscalculated the distance between the roofs and fell to the pavement, hard.

"You're mine Cooper," said Carmelita triumphantly as she dashed over to the edge of the building's roof. Her hopes, which had risen higher than they had been in a long time, crashed horribly as she saw Cooper getting into the back of that infernal panel van of his. "You can't run forever!" she yelled in a futile attempt to instill some fear into her quarry. She stood on that rooftop for a minute, watching the van as it drove farther and farther away.

* * *

"Sly, didn't I tell you not to do anything stupid?" said Bentley with a serious look on his face. It took Sly a moment to realize that his turtle friend was joking with him. Small smiles began to creep their ways across the turtle and raccoon's faces.

However Murray, who was currently driving the van at an almost breakneck pace, hadn't caught the drift and asked seriously, "Yeah Sly, couldn't the Inspector have finally caught up with you and put you behind bars?"

"Don't worry big guy," said Sly, clapping his brawny friend on the shoulder. "I've gotten away from Carmelita every time we've ever faced." Murray's eyes broke their connection with the road to look up into the mirror that allowed him vision behind his van, and was greeted by a smiling Sly. Slowly, Murray's face broke into the biggest smile of the three as he understood what was going on.

"Oh, I get it Sly," the Murray said, with a huge wink in his little friend's direction as he turned back to driving.

A small sound of distress from Bentley let Sly know that something had gone wrong. "Sly! The painting! It's... It's..." Sly turned to look at the painting, _Cauchemar_, and saw that in his escape from the fiery Inspector his loot had taken a hit. Now the canvas hung tattered from its gilded frame. "... It's ruined!" Bentley finished.

"Hey what's this though?" asked Sly, as he reached out to retrieve that had fallen onto the panel van's floor. It was an innocent looking envelope, addressed to one, Mr. Sly Cooper, in blue ink. The hand writing was very hard to distinguish as it was curly to the extreme. Sly flipped the envelope over in his hands a saw that the letter had been sealed with, not somebody's spit, but a small amount of wax.

Bentley's eyes widened when he viewed the seal that had been stamped into the wax. "Hey, let me get a look at that envelope Sly," said Bentley, who took the letter when Sly offered it to him.

Sly suddenly felt an irresistible urge to fall asleep wash over him. He tried to tell his buddies that he was just going to take a nap, but found he was too tired to even do that or maybe it had been that small tickle in the back of his throat that had prevented from saying anything._ Ah well, I'll just let them know I fell asleep after I do so..._ Sly Cooper, renowned thief, fell sideways onto the hard panel van floor, fast asleep.


	3. Invitation to Silence

Chapter 3: **Invitation to Silence**

He couldn't tell where the noises were coming from and it annoyed him. Everything was dark; it was like somebody had turned off the sun. Slowly the noises in the background became just a little bit clearer. He could tell someone was trying to call to him, but from where? He thought about it for a moment, and decided that he wasn't dead. After all, there weren't any bright lights about, only the oppressive blackness that enshrowded him. But if he wasn't deceased where was he?

Maybe he was dreaming. Yes, that must be it. Dreams always started out in this sort of fashion. Everything surrounding the dreamer would be cast completely in shadow, and important figures or things would reveal themselves as the dream went on. At least, that's how he thought dreams were supposed to go; he couldn't be quite sure, as he couldn't recall the last time he'd dreamt. He was pretty sure that he hadn't dreamt in awhile at least. The background noise increased, and it was becoming increasingly irritating to listen to. On the same level however, the noise took on a definite accent, as though it was a person who he knew.

As he listened to the noise, he realized it was somebody speaking. He tried to place the sound with a face or name, but nothing surfaced. It certainly didn't seem like any proper sort of dream to be having, so he must've been awake. But if he was awake, why couldn't he see? He certainly remembered being able to see things before, but now nothing appeared in front of him. But there was something else about this darkness, it felt so... close. Suddenly it dawned on Sly Cooper that he had his eyes closed, and he opened them.

With a sudden rush, all of his senses leaped back into place. He could suddenly hear properly again, and though his vision was blurry at first, his eyes focused seconds later. He found himself staring right into the face of his good friend Bentley. The turtle's worried face relaxed as he saw that Sly had awoken from his sleep.

"You gave us both quite a fright Sly, just falling asleep like that Sly and then not waking up for three days," Bentley explained. Sly watched as Bentley sat back fully in his wheel-chair.

It took a moment for what Bentley had said to sink in. He'd been asleep for three days? Sly's head ached, buzzing as though he was experiencing a hangover of sorts; but Sly never got drunk. It hit him then and there. Von Stoopehd must've put something incredibly nasty in that drink, and it had messed with his system. Three days though? That seemed almost impressive, in a dark, "I'm surprised he didn't just outright kill me" kind of way. Sly's throat was very scratchy and the raccoon didn't feel like responding to his friend right there.

Meanwhile, Bentley had made himself busy, running all sorts of tests on Sly in an attempt to assess the thief's health. The green turtle wheeled himself in front of Sly, who was laying on a sort of examination table, with a checklist in hand. Bentley mumbled to himself as he went down the items on the list, checking them off one-by-one. Finally, he was satisfied that Sly wasn't in any sort of mortal danger. "Well Sly, I've checked you over and you seem fine to me. How do you feel?"

Sly sat himself up, and rubbed at his eyes with his hands. He opened his mouth to tell Bentley just how he felt, but ending up coughing violently instead. When the coughing subsided, Bentley's worried expression had implanted itself once more upon the turtle's visage. Sly tried to reassure his friend that he was ok, but only heard a rasping noise escape from his throat.

"Uh-oh..." said Bentley, reaching for a strange looking instrument on a nearby table. He fiddled with the joystick on his wheel-chair and soon was eye-to-eye with Sly. "Say, 'Ah'," said Bentley. Sly complied by opening his mouth, but no sound came out. Using a hand-held flashlight, Bentley gazed into his friend's throat. You weren't as smart as someone like Bentley without knowing a thing or two about medicine and all the things that could go wrong with somebody's body. It always payed to be prepared.

Sly tried to say, "But I feel fine Bentley," but nothing came out. This was starting to seriously creep Sly out.

"Well, I don't know what to say Sly," said Bentley, as he scratched his head. "Everything should be fine, and yet it seems as though your larynx has been temporarilly shut off." Sly gave a quizzical look at the word larynx. "Means your voice box isn't working," Bentley explained, pointing at where his own larynx would be. "I'll have to run some more tests... Sly? Sly! Don't go back to sleep buddy! Fight it! Fight the power!"

Sly's world went black once more, against the protests of his green friend. He woke up later to find himself laying underneath the covers in his bed. They must've moved him here thinking it'd be more comfortable than waking up on an examination table; they were right.

Sly shifted himself so that he was sitting up and looking at his face in a mirror. He looked the same as he always had. There weren't any hideous mutations marring his face, and he didn't seem to have a monster bursting forth from within him, but why then did this feel like it was something out of some old horror movie?

Just to make sure the whole thing hadn't been a dream, he tried to yell. All he got for his troubles was a low raspy sound that he was pretty sure only he could hear. He tried to say something, to be double sure that he couldn't speak. He looked like an idiot, opening and closing his mouth with nothing coming out.

It finally began to sink in. He couldn't speak, nor laugh, nor yell, nor emit any sound at all the sounded in any way, shape, or form like speach. He'd never be able to do a million different things he'd wanted to, all because he couldn't utter a word. He suddenly felt very depressed. He'd never be able to...

But his thoughts were interrupted by a small whoosing noise that came from the mail tube in the corner. It was a simple device that Bentley had whipped up after being told by both Sly and Murray that simply yelling down to both of them while they were sleeping would do him no good. So, instead of straining his voice, Bentley had used some stolen materials to build a mail tube. If there was something that he needed Sly or Murray to know, and he suspected that they were sleeping, he'd just type it up and send it down. It used to be that Bentley could just walk down the stairs, but no so anymore.

Sly guessed at what the note said, and decided that it'd just be easier to have Bentley tell him the news to his face. Without a second thought, Sly quickly ascended the wooden stairs to the main level of the safe house

He stepped into the living room. Long ago, before the Cooper Gang had renovated this place, the walls had been plain concrete, and odd bits of wire and plastic hung from the ceiling. Now however, the walls were covered with a soft green print, and the wires hanging from the ceiling had been repaired or replaced. They had also had a brownish-gray carpet installed. There was a single couch up against a wall, opposite of which sat the television. Just in front of the couch was a coffee table.

Bentley was sitting in his wheel-chair next to the couch, his laptop open. He was typing away furiously, and failed to notice Sly's entrance. Normally, the raccoon might've said something along the lines of "Hey" or "Hi Bentley" but under the circumstances that probably wouldn't work. Instead, he tried flailing his arms around frantically; that worked. Bentley looked up from his work and saw Sly.

"Uh, hello Sly. Just give me a moment here," said the turtle, glancing back down at his laptop's screen for a second. "Almost finished." The only sound that filled the room was the sharp clicking and clacking of keyboard keys. When Bentley was finished, he gently placed his computer on the coffee table. He removed his glasses and began cleaning them with the edge of his shirt. "Now, I have absolutely no clue as to what has happened to you, and how to go about looking for a cure. Don't worry though," he said quickly, as he saw Sly's face fall. "That won't stop me from trying to find out how to reverse this, but in the meantime..." Bentley fished around in his pocket for something, and pulled out the envelope from earlier (A/N:Chapter Two). "I took the liberty of opening your mail for you. Here, I think you'd better read it for yourself."

Sly reached out and took the proffered envelope in his hands. The wax seal had been left intact because Bentley wanted to inspect it at some later date. The envelope had been opened by use of a letter opener, and Sly removed the note from within. The paper was thick and heavy, and looked somewhat grainy. The thing itself was only the size of a postcard. On the front in cursive writing was Sly's name. Sly turned the envelope and would've gasped at what he saw if he'd been able to.

"Strange huh?" asked Bentley. Sly watched as Bentley returned his spectacles to their proper place. "Receiving an invitation to a ball from a guy who you saw die less than a week ago? Still, we got this new letter in the mail yesterday, while you were still out. It's a letter from Von Stoopehd." That certainly prompted a response from Sly. The thief's features lit up with surprise and shock. "In essence, it says that the party's still on, barring another experience like that of three days ago. Now, I've already checked the document for evidence of forgery, and it checked out. It's really his signature Sly. I know for a fact that ghosts are real, but zombies? Give me a break Sly, that's just physically impossible."

Sly shrugged his shoulders in response, as there wasn't a whole lot else that he could do. This whole 'not being able to talk' thing was really beginning to frustrate the Master Thief. It'd barely been ten minutes and already the lack of being able to communicate his thoughts and ideas was irking the raccoon. He'd have to figure someway around it.

"As we've currently no idea as to where to start in search for a cure, I propose that you actually attend Stoopehd's party. I know it goes against the whole 'never return to the scene of the crime' deal, but we don't have any other leads at the moment. You should get working on a disguise, the ball's tomorrow."

Sly nodded in agreement. He felt as though he'd be walking into some sort of trap, but what other choice did he have really? Sit around for weeks waiting for Bentley to come up with one or two things to try, that most likely wouldn't work out in the end? Sly just wasn't the kind of person to sit around and wait for things to happen. Sly sighed deeply and hung his head as he moved into the kitchen in search of something to eat. Yesterday things had just seemed so... bright compared to today.

One day later, Sly stood looking at himself in the mirror. He was particularly pleased with this disguise, and rightly so. It _had_ taken the better part of yesterday to perfect it. He'd almost decided on wearing a monocle, but after thinking on it left it behind. It'd have just been overkill. Actually, now that he took a close look in the mirror he noticed that he looked a lot like his ancestor Thaddeus Winslow Cooper III.

He inserted a small radio-wave transmitter into his right ear. Bentley had just broken through the radio scramblers that von Stoopehd employed to keep all outside interference on the outside. With the radio-wave transmitter, Bentley would be able to keep in touch with him should things become decidedly dicey. With one final glance Sly was sure that his disguise was finished.

Sly arrived at von Stoopehd's gates minutes later, and he had to say he was impressed. The entire manor had been lit up for the occasion, and two large search lights out in front on the lawn shot their beams of light into the night sky. The manor had certainly looked ugly last night, but Sly just guessed that was because it had been entirely dark.

Sly watched as several groups of people in front of him were admitted past the gates. Most people were on foot like Sly, but several limosines and other fancy cars drove up the driveway before delivering their occupants to the manor.

He walked boldly up to the gate guard and handed him his invitation. Bentley had, using some technology that Sly didn't quite understand, modified both the guest list and the actual invitation itself so that neither would give away his true name. Tonight Sly was Devon Eastham, and he planned to stick to that name no matter who or what happened at the party. The guard barely paused to look at the invitation, and allowed Mr. Eastham admittance to the manor up ahead.

Walking past the guards quickly, Sly was thankful that the guards hadn't asked him anything. He had come armed with a pad of pader and pen if things became so desperate that he absolutely _had_ to communicate with somebody, but the feeling of those objects in his inside breast pocket felt heavier than they should have. Besides, Sly wasn't even sure how long his voice would remain the way it was. Even the strangest of diseases and afflictions would sometimes vanish of their own accord, didn't they?

Sly gazed up at the gaily lit manor, not just a little bit curious. Something seriously... wrong was going on here. Only three days ago he had seen the owner of this house fall down on the floor, dead. He couldn't forget the picture of the rat on the floor, as though he were some common vermin. Sure, he hadn't been a saint or even a good person really, but to just see someone's life snuffed out like a candle? It was more than a little frightening.

Stoopehd had spent the majority of his life in deathly fear of practically everything. It just seemed to go against every bit of the rat's character. Why hold a party when you were afraid of people, crowds, noise, hand shakes, friends, enemies, certain foods, certain drinks, pink and green colored napkins, and countless other things that present themselves at parties?

Sly made up his mind as he took his first step onto the porch that extended from the manor's front, there was something seriously wrong with Stoopehd, and he'd have to investigate. He first stepped into the huge reception room that had been specially cleaned for tonight. The marble floors sparkled with a cleanliness they had not seen in years. There were long, plush red runner carpets that headed off to the right and left, down long hallways, that had been decorated with expensive looking paintings and sculptures.

Looking around the room, Sly was able to tell that Stoopehd wasn't here greeting his guests. He must've been in some other part of the manor. Sly looked down at a golden watch that he had swiped from somebody earlier that week, and saw that it was already 6:30. That was late compared to the start date of the ball, and most of the guests had already been present for over an hour.

He chose to head down the left corridor in search of the host. He passed by several paintings and other works of art. His fingers itched at the thought of how much he could get for any one of those things on but he controlled his urges. It would've been incredibly stupid and fool-hardy to swipe anything tonight, well... anything that wasn't large enough that it wouldn't fit in a pocket anyways.

Rounding the corner, Sly saw a pair of open doors that led to the ballroom. That was were he would find Stoopehd, he was sure of it. Sly took his first step into the ballroom and was truly awestruck for a moment. The ceiling was a high one, from which hung an absolutely gigantic and stunning crystal chandelier. That one chandelier illuminated the entire room perfectly. The dance floor was slightly sunk lower than the rest of the room, and made from black and blue marble. Currently on top of the marble were at least one hundred people, all moving and swaying in perfect timing with the music.

Sly's attention was drawn to the small orchestra who sat in the corner of the room, projecting their melodious tunes throughout the entire room. There were people playing violions, cellos, flute, and even several instruments that Sly couldn't name off the top of his head. At the head of a group stood a lone wolf, who conducted the entire group with the motions of his hands, his baton, and sometimes his whole body. Right now, a soft, slow tune that flowed very nicely wafted through the air, providing a very tangible sense of atmosphere.

The dance floor did take up much of the ballroom, but a small section had been reserved in the far corner for refreshments. As Sly's gaze moved from the dancers to the refreshment table he saw just what, or who, he had been looking for. There, standing in the center of a group of people, was von Stoopehd. He seemed entirely different from how Bentley had described him and how Sly remembered him. Laughing loudly at a particularly humurous joke, Ludwig excused himself from the throng of people that had formed around him. They seemed genuinely reluctant to let him go, as though they had become fast friends with Stoopehd in the mere confines of several hours.

Ludwig carried himself confidently now, with an almost friendly glint in his eyes. His face split into a wide smile as he spotted Sly, aka Mr. Eastham. He made his way to Sly and offered his right hand to shake. Thinking it would be better to keep up pretenses while surrounded by so many people, Sly took the hand shook in return. "Mr. Easthem! I'm very glad you could come! Enjoying yourself?" Sly nodded. "Good, good! I expect you are wanting to talk to me, yes?" Von Stoopehd either didn't notice Sly's slight twitch, at the word _talk, _or he didn't care about it. "If you'd be so kind as to follow me."

Ludwig led Sly from the ballroom, and paused for only a minute or two to talk with a few of his other guests before arriving in front of a huge steel door that looked oddly familiar. In fact, it was the same steel door through which Sly had passed through on his heist days ago. "I do hope you don't mind turning around while I enter the code. Can't be too trusting these days, can we?"

Sly turned around. He looked slightly to his left and right and saw some people section off the hallway he was in. That certainly couldn't be good. He was about to get out of there when he felt something grasp his collar from behind. Using an almost super-human strength Ludwig flung Sly into the art gallery. Normally Sly would've been able to roll one way or the other in order to avoid falling flat on the floor, but not this time. The raccoon landed on the gallery floor with a thud.

He had flown through the air with his eyes closed and chose now to open them. Staring directly at him was the, almost week-old, corpse of Ludwig von Stoopehd. Scooting back as fast as he could, Sly bumped into something. His head whipped upwards, and found Ludwig looking down at him.

"Boo."

Ludwig laughed as Sly nearly jumped out of his fur. The raccoon, now a considerable distance from both the dead and living Stoopehd, finally stood up and took deep breaths as his heart pounded faster and faster.

"Ah... I've been wanting to do that for a very long time Cooper," said Ludwig, instantly dropping any pretenses he had held earlier in order to keep suspicion off of him. "In fact, I've wanted to this... all of this for a very long time." He held his arms up wide palms open to the ceiling to illustrate his point. "For most of my life really, ever since that time... ah, well there will be time for reminiscing later won't there?"

Sly wasn't really listening. His mind was more focused on trying to find an escape route as fast as possible. There weren't any windows that he could see, and there weren't any holes in the ceiling that he could use. The only way out was through the door he had just come in by, and that fact sunk in hard.

"As you've no doubt guessed by now, I am not Ludwig Adelbert von Stoopehd. My name is... my name is..." Ludwig, or whoever he was, stopped to ponder. It seemed as though he wasn't quite sure whether he'd decided if he would tell Sly his real name or not. "You may call me The Actor, or just Actor. In fact, let's go with Actor. I never really liked titles," said Actor.

Actor began pacing back and forth. "Where to start...? where to start...?" he mumbled to himself. "The beginning is usually the best place to start, but unfortunately for you Sly, the beginning will have to wait for later."

Actor snapped his fingers and the giant steel door whooshed open to admit to burly looking thugs. Sly looked at the bruisers with a faint twinge of fear in his eyes. He was thing agile yes, but he usually had his cane by his side and right now there was no exit. Eventually, if things turned ugly, he'd be backed into a corner and promptly pummeled. He didn't enjoy thinking about that prospect. A slight twinkle of hope appeared though as the thugs hadn't shut the steel door properly.

"Relax Cooper, I have only summoned these two to make sure that you do not overpower a poor, old frail person such as myself," he said, chuckling afterwards. Sly highly doubted that Actor was old. "Because of your current predicament Cooper," said Actor, obviously meaning that he knew Sly wasn't able to speak. "Because of your predicament it seems I shall be the one to ask all the questions tonight. I suppose, that just by looking at you, you obviously wish to know who I really am. I have already told you who I am, and that should suffice. Besides, I can't be bothered to remind you of who I am if you can't remember yourself. That's right Sly Cooper, you and I have met before."

Sly was surprised to say in the least. He had never once met a person like this. Well, actually he couldn't be quite sure of that. This Actor character was obviously wearing some kind of disguise and probably looked nothing like what he did now without it on.

"So many years ago, in fact that I bet you've forgotten." Sly nodded his head slowly. "Now, on to more present business matters. You are wondering if it is possible to remove this terrible affliction that ailes you, am I right?" Once more, Sly nodded. "Then I'm afraid that you are wasting the precious little time you have to find the man here who can help you Sly. He's here, at this party in fact, and he told me that he'd be leaving in approximately..." Actor took a look down at his golden wrist watch. "Oh, in about three minutes?

Sly made a move, hoping to dash past the guards and into the party to find this man, whoever he was. The thug on the right would have none of this escaping business, and threw a couple of punches Sly's way. The last of which, being an uppercut, connected with the intended target and Sly felt himself lifted off the floor by the force of the blow.

"Tsk tsk Sly. Running off to find a man with absolutely no idea what he looks like? That seems a little unprofessional of you." A small grin found its way onto Actor's face, as Sly grimaced from the pain as he stood up. "But I am not such a bad man to not help point you in the right direction. You're looking for is a middle aged goat. The fur at the top of his head has turned slightly silver, although he won't admit to it. He's wearing a very business like navy suit and jacket. Also, he always carries a monocle around, but for what reason I am unable to discern."

All throughout the description, Sly had listened as well as could've been expected of him. Actor slowly walked over to Sly, and looked the raccoon straight in the eye. "Doctor Herbert Gramshure. I'd go now if I were you."

Sly inched his way around Actor, aware of the rat's black eyes that followed him as he moved. Sly's pace quickened as he ran past the guards. He finally broke into a sprint as he entered the empty corridor, and heard Actor call out something. "I am the one that did this to you! Never forget that Sly!" Sly didn't care about that right now, he only wanted to find this Doctor who could supposedly help him.

He had checked nearly every room in the manor that had been open to guests in just under two minutes, when he hear a loud car horn from outside. Of course! If he waited outside he'd be able to "speak" with Gramshure before he left! Sly hastily scribbled a note on a piece of paper and folded it up as he stepped out into the cold, night air. There, not fifty feet away, was a middle aged goat getting into the back seat of a rather expensive looking car. Sly couldn't believe his bad luck as the car turned down the driveway and sped away into town.

Just like the last time he had exited this building, his earpiece crackled to life. "Sly... Sorry about... lost the signal... back online now... You better head back to the safe house so you can fill me in on what happened. My communications relay with you went dead the second you entered the manor."

Sly took a deep breath as he walked down the driveway of the late Ludwig von Stoopehd's manor. Things... things just didn't seem to be going well for him.

A loud, angry growl rent the silence in the room as hundreds of papers were thrown across the room. Inspector Fox definately wasn't happy. She had just gotten off the phone with the last of her reliable contacts and learned nothing. She had ended the conversation abrubtly by using a string of particularly nasty insults and vulgarities, in at least three different languages.

Her chest heaved in and out, her lungs working double time to make up for the lost oxygen because of all the swearing. Finally, she took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm herself and let her head fall onto her desk. For the next minute or so she did nothing but smack her forehead repeatedly on her desk. She was quite frustrated. She hadn't heard anything on her elusive quarry since they had last met, and it was starting to get to her.

Rubbing her temples, it finally came to Carmelita. There _was_ still one contact she had left, but she was loathe to call him. She wasn't quite sure what it was about him, but that guy creeped her out. She looked at the phone, wondering whether or not to dial the number. Her hand moved over the phone, hovering in position, not sure whether it wanted to grasp the device or leave it alone.

She thought it over in her head. It must've been at least three years since she had since this particular contact, and he must've become a little less... weird, by now right? She gulped visibly as she picked up and the phone and began dialing the number.

She hoped the contact didn't have caller ID. He did. An annoyingly high-pitched voice came over the phone as the contact picked up the phone. "Cousin 'Lita! So glad you called!"


End file.
